


Just for One Dance

by all_these_ghosts



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Absolutely no angst because I can't anymore with them, Dancing, Definitely not a songfic, F/M, Fluff, Only trash, Season/Series 03, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6108547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_these_ghosts/pseuds/all_these_ghosts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has constellations of freckles scattered across her collarbone. There are undiscovered galaxies right next to him, and wouldn't he rather explore the infinite depths of Dana Scully than any unknown star?</p><p>tl;dr Skinner's having a party and Mulder and Scully are invited. Hijinks, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place a bit after “Avatar.” I know people think that Sharon Skinner is dead at the end of the episode but I…don’t? Like, I see no evidence for that at all. ANYWAY I’m gonna roll with it!! It’s a party.
> 
> (Also, this is total trash and I am not ashamed. I'm a little ashamed. I just don't care.)
> 
> (Straight up, I originally titled this "Skinner's Having a Party" but then that Wolfmother song came on and I thought better of it.)

Taking their normal seats in Skinner’s office, Mulder and Scully exchange glances. As far as he knows, they hadn’t done anything _especially_ wrong, at least not lately.

Skinner's hands are clasped on the desk in front of him. He's visibly uncomfortable: a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, jaw clenched.

This is going to be bad.

Skinner doesn't say anything - not a damn word. Mulder’s leg starts bouncing without his permission, and under the table Scully gently touches his knee. Of course she's calm. Scully is never really in trouble. Not like him.

Finally she says, “Sir? You asked us to come see you immediately.”

The older man clears his throat. “Yes. Well - this is an awkward—“ His voice trails off.

When Scully speaks again, her voice is pitched just a little higher. “Sir?”

Skinner lets out a long sigh - a _distressingly_ long sigh - and slowly, reluctantly, slaps a card down on the desk and pushes it toward them.

“Sir?” Scully asks. Again.

“Just - open it,” he says gruffly.

Scully takes it off the table, holding it out for Mulder to see. After a quick glance, he looks up at her. He can see the shrug in her eyes. She doesn't have any more ideas than he does - and for once, Fox Mulder has absolutely no theories.

Simultaneously they turn back to face the assistant director. Scully says, “Sir, I’m not sure I understand.”

Again with the sigh. “My wife - she said I need to invite - friends. People from work. No more secrets. _Like a normal person_.” He's clearly quoting his wife.

Next to him, Scully is trying desperately not to smile. She's chewing on her lip. “And you invited us?” God, she is not hiding her amusement well _at all_. She sounds like she's choking.

Skinner just grunts. “Look, if you can make it - it would make my wife happy. Okay?”

Dutifully, Mulder and Scully nod.

* * *

When they get back to the basement, Scully finally lets it out.

It starts out just a snicker, but after a minute she erupts in peals of laughter, bent halfway over and clutching her stomach.

Watching her, Mulder grins. It's kind of delightful to see her like this - he hasn't seen her laugh this hard since that first case, four or five million years ago.

Her laugh is bright and loud and just slightly ridiculous, and even though he really doesn't see what's so funny, he doesn't want her to stop.

Finally, wiping tears from her eyes, Scully straightens and takes a breath. “Sorry. I just - oh, Mulder, it’s more sad than funny, but he was _so nervous_. And how on earth are _we_ the people Skinner invites to his vow renewal?”

Mulder shrugs. “I don’t know. Who do you normally invite to these things?”

“Not your rabble-rousing subordinates.”

“Even if they saved your ass recently?”

“Even then.”

“Are you gonna go?”

“I suppose we should.” He notes her use of _we_ and she snickers again. “I thought he was going to throw up. I’ve never seen him look so nervous.”

Mulder drops himself into his chair, props his feet up on the desk. Scully sits down across from him, now mostly recovered from her laughing fit - to his deep regret. He makes a mental note to come up with some better jokes to tell her. Clearly his finely tuned sarcasm isn't doing the trick. He wants another Dana Scully belly laugh.

He crosses his arms, considering. “You know, I’ve never been to a wedding.”

Scully waves the invitation at him. “You _still_ won’t have been to a wedding.”

He gives her a pained look. "I'm serious!” He bets Scully's been to tons of weddings. She's Irish-Catholic, she probably has a hundred cousins. And she had a normal life, once. When they first started working together, she went to birthday parties, went on dates. Now she spends her Friday nights crawling through the sewers with him.

She interrupts his thoughts, which is probably for the best. Things were getting depressing. "Mulder, how is that _possible_? You're thirty-four years old!"

"Small family.”

Scully rolls her eyes. ”Friends from college...?"

"I went to college in England.” He doesn't go for the woe-is-me schtick, the one where he admits out loud that Dana Scully is his only friend. 

There's only one wedding he's likely to get invited to, and it's hers. And Mulder doesn't like to think about Scully getting married.

Oh, maybe he does want to do that schtick. Just to see where she takes it. "Scully, I think you’re the only person who would invite me to their wedding.”

She just gives him a prim little smile. "I'm married to the job, Mulder.”

"But someday..." he needles, and she raises her eyebrows in a way that says _Can it, Mulder_ , more clearly than words ever could.

This is going nowhere, as usual. “What are you gonna wear?”

“Pajamas,” she deadpans. Her eyes scan the invitation again. “It’s in a couple weeks. Seriously, we should go. It’ll make Skinner’s day.”

“So what,” Mulder grumbles, but he doesn't really mean it.

“It’ll be fun. Get dressed up, eat some overcooked chicken. It’s what love is all about.”

“Sure.” He makes another mental note: to look for crop circles in England, UFO sightings in Egypt - something, anything, to take him far away from Washington, D.C. two weeks from now.

He does _not_ want to go to this wedding. Non-wedding. Whatever it is. Where he'll have to spend a night with other people, making small talk. Mulder hasn't been to anything that could be described as a "party" in ten years, and he is very happy with his choices.

Mostly happy.

Mostly okay. He’s not dead yet, anyway.

"Mulder, you're not gonna bail on me." She leans her elbows on the desk and doesn't break eye contact, even for a second. Scully's always been a good interrogator.

"Um."

"Mulder."

Withering under her glare, Mulder finally caves. "Fine. I'll go. You happy?"

And Scully just sits back in the chair like she hasn't done a damn thing, with this smile that's somehow simultaneously sweet and shit-eating, and Mulder can't decide whether he'd rather yell at her or kiss her, a problem he's having more and more lately.

Either way, he's at her mercy. And apparently that means he's going to Skinner's wedding.

Non-wedding.

Whatever it is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, here’s the rest. The file name on my computer is “crackfic” aaaand that’s what this is. No I don’t know why Scully owns a dress like this, except I guess I hope she realizes how hot she is? I don’t know. I’m like, 10% as hot as her and I own a dress this sexy, so I feel like she deserves it. 
> 
> Also yes I do think that Mulder is basically a horny teenager. Boy does not watch that much porn and not end up permanently fifteen. In a charming way? 
> 
> Anyway this is trash and nothing, have fun :)

They’d decided to drive over together. mostly because Scully had declared that she’d earned “a drink or five” for putting up with all of Mulder's complaining about the wedding. Thing. So he’s picking her up, and then they’re driving to some banquet hall in Virginia.

And his version of getting lucky is maybe Scully falls asleep on his couch tonight, and in the morning she’ll probably make coffee, since she always gets up first. Sadly, he’s looking forward to it. Sometimes he just likes knowing she’s there.

After calling Scully to ask about appropriate attire, Mulder decided on one of his work suits with an even more festive tie than usual.

As he drives up to her place, he realizes that Scully is - well, Scully is definitely not wearing a suit.

In fact, it takes him a long minute to realize that it's her walking out of her apartment building. A woman comes out of the front door, he gives her an appreciative once-over - then notices her hair.

 _God_. If she'd wanted him to come to this party without a fight, she should've just described this dress.

It's blue - he thinks royal blue is a color, he thinks that's what it is - and slinky, with a deep v-neck. The fabric ends just above her knees, and apparently Scully is much taller than he thought, because her legs are a thousand miles long.

She walks around to the passenger side of his car, and he has to stop himself from getting out and opening it for her. This is not a date, he reminds himself. This is a work function.

This is a work function, and Scully is wearing a dress that might actually kill him. The universe is a crueler place than he'd ever imagined.

"Hey," she says, buckling her seatbelt.

"Hey," Mulder says, but it must come out wrong because Scully gives him a look. He tries again. "That's a nice - uh - you look nice."

"Thanks." Her eyes are looking straight ahead, which is probably for the best. Maybe she won't notice the way he keeps stealing glances at her.

 _You look nice_ , he scoffs to himself. _More like, you look incredible. You look like a goddess. You look like a lot of the dreams I've been having lately, but better, because you're actually here._

They ride most of the way in silence, NPR on the radio. It’s _Prairie Home Companion_ , which he secretly likes, and which Scully doesn’t hate enough to object to. They spend a lot of time in the car together.

He parks the car. “We could wait here for a little bit,” he suggests.

She raises her eyebrows. “There’s no such thing as ‘fashionably late’ to a wedding.”

“You said this wasn’t a wedding.”

“Fine. You can’t be fashionably late to a vow renewal.”

He groans and gets out of the car. This time he does open the door for her. She smiles up at him and his entire body tenses and collapses at the same time, impossibly, like he hasn’t done this a thousand times. “Thanks,” she says.

“You ready for this?” he asks, hands in his pockets.

She shrugs. “We’ve seen worse.”

When they actually get inside, Mulder’s not sure if that’s true. There are at least sixty people here and he doesn’t know any of them, all dressed up in their banquet hall finest. Scully walks up to a table like she knows what she’s doing and pulls little cards with their names on them.

They quickly learn that they’re sitting with a bunch of Skinner’s wife’s cousins, who are all about their age and with whom they have absolutely nothing else in common. The cousins sit around drinking, reminiscing about childhood camping trips, and sharing parenting horror stories while Mulder’s anxiety slowly increases. Scully sips on a glass of white wine, eyeing him over the rim.

After half an hour or so, Skinner and Sharon appear from somewhere. Skinner clears his throat and it silences the entire room, which is pretty impressive.

"I just wanted to thank you all for coming," Skinner says. "Many of you know that Sharon and I have been through some...ups and downs recently, and we felt it was important to uh, reaffirm our commitment.” 

He gestures toward a shorter, jovial-looking man at the table next to them. The man waves. “For those of you who don’t know him, this is Sharon’s brother Jack,” Skinner says. “He officiated the ceremony earlier this evening.” He glances at his wife. “The _private_ ceremony.”

Sharon grins broadly. “See, we’re learning to compromise!”

The assembled crowd laughs; Skinner smiles and takes his wife’s hand. Mulder is happy for him. God knows Skinner gets put through enough shit at work, he deserves a happy home life.

“We’re really here to celebrate,” Sharon says, her voice easily across through the room. “But we have a couple of people who couldn’t resist the opportunity to give a speech.”

Everyone laughs again, sort of knowingly, and Mulder is conscious of being out of place. Jack stands up and starts to talk about Sharon and Skinner’s relationship at great length, starting from the day they met.

Mulder leans over to whisper in his partner’s ear. “Is this what these things are normally like?”

“How should I know?” she says quietly. “I’ve never been to a vow renewal.”

“Scully! I thought you knew what you were doing.”

Her smile is absolutely wicked. “I _always_ know what I’m doing.”

He narrows his eyes at her. _I bet you do_. He'd thought it would be less distracting sitting next to her than it was watching her walk, but he's spent years with her in shirts buttoned up to the neck and boxy blazers; tonight she just has so much _skin_. And all of it smooth and creamy, constellations of freckles scattered across her collarbone. There are undiscovered galaxies right next to him, and wouldn't he rather explore the infinite depths of Dana Scully than any unknown star--

Mulder pinches the bridge of his nose. _Get ahold of yourself._ He's always found her attractive, he's not blind, but this - this is not productive. He is thirty-four years old, and he likes to think he’s developed at least a little self control.

After the speeches, they're all released to the buffet line and a ten-by-ten parquet dance floor. The cousins all get up to dance with their respective spouses, and before long Mulder and Scully are the only ones left at their table. Sharon and Skinner are dancing, and Skinner is a surprisingly good dancer.

“Can we go?” he asks.

Scully rolls her eyes. “Mulder, we’ve only been here for an hour. We haven’t even seen Skinner yet.”

Mulder thinks about it. ”Then do you wanna dance?"

"With you?” she laughs.

“Yeah, with me.” He pretends to be hurt, and he actually _is_ a little, not that he’d admit it. 

When she takes his hand and stands up with him, he’s happier than he has any reason to be. _You asked a pretty girl to dance, and she said yes_ , he thinks. That’s a pretty good reason. Even if said pretty girl is his partner and arguably his only friend, making romance strictly forbidden.

Of course as soon as they stand up a slow song comes on, and Mulder flashes painfully back to junior high. He is one hundred percent sure that this exact thing happened to him when he was fourteen, which explains why he hasn’t attended any dancing-related functions since. At this point he’s just hoping that this time doesn’t include an ill-timed hard-on.

Scully doesn’t seem to mind the change in the music. She reaches up to place her hands on his shoulders, leaving just inches between them. Mulder swallows hard and wills his body to behave.

“Come on,” she teases, grinning up at him. “You put your hands on my waist…”

He thinks Scully is a little drunk. Usually he’s the one flirting shamelessly, waiting for her to notice. Still, he follows her instructions.

“Good,” she says. “Now you just sway to the beat.” She nods her head on each beat, for emphasis.

“I’m not fourteen,” he says petulantly.

“Fine. I withdraw my assistance.” And she’s giggling again. Slightly drunk Scully is fun Scully. Of course, he also thinks autopsy-performing Scully is fun Scully. And “your call woke me up in the middle of the night, _what the fuck do you want_ ” Scully is fun Scully. He pretty much likes all the versions of her.

He’s scanning the crowd over the top of her head. There’s no one here they know except Skinner and Sharon. No one to go back to the office and spread rumors about Mr. and Mrs. Spooky.

Whenever he overhears those assholes talking about them, it’s a struggle. He wants to punch them for suggesting that Scully is anything other than the consummate professional she is. He wants to punch himself for wishing that some of those rumors were true.

And Scully’s swaying with him and the fabric of her dress is thin enough that he can feel the heat of her against his hands. Her hair is pulled back so he can see the perfect curve of her neck, and this is _such a bad idea_ and he is not doing anything about it. Is this the only time he’s held her when no one was dead or dying?

To distract himself, he leans down and whispers, “You know, I think I can tell which ones are Skinners. Baldness is an inherited trait.”

“Shut up, Mulder.” But she’s smiling up at him, and they stand this close together _all the time_ at work, something Mulder’s never understood but doesn’t dare question, but this is different. If it’s the dress or the music or her strong, delicate hands lightly caressing his shoulders. _Jesus_.

“I’m serious. Look around. Exactly half of the men in this room are bald.”

With a grin, she reaches up and traces his hairline. He tries not to shiver. “Mm. Sounds like an X-file. We'd better go investigate.”

He scoffs.

“This is nice,” she muses, her voice getting a little wistful.

Mulder shudders. “I hate this song.” It’s that REO Speedwagon song, the one that’s impossibly still on the radio all the time. The lyrics always make him uncomfortable.

_// what started out as friendship has grown stronger_

She starts humming along tunelessly. “It reminds me of college. I danced to this at my senior formal.”

“Who’d you go with?” he asks, stupidly curious. He always feels like he knows her so well, but he doesn’t really know anything about who she was before she walked into his office. Twenty-one-year-old Dana Scully had to have been a firecracker.

Scully smiles, remembering. “Ben Weiss. He played baseball. Tall, dark hair…”

“Sounds like you have a type.”

“You wish,” she laughs, and he _so_ does.

The song ends and something faster starts up, but neither of them change positions. She’s looking up at him, her blue eyes hazy and soft, and he’s embarrassed by the effect all of this is having on him.

“Scully,” he says, and he doesn’t know where he’s going with this, but he just likes the sound of her name on his tongue. He had exactly one sip of Scully’s wine and somehow he feels drunk. If he kissed her their mouths would taste the same. _No. Do not._

“Yeah?” she says, her voice easy. 

And Skinner and Sharon take that opportunity to come over and greet them.

Mulder reluctantly releases Scully, and Sharon reaches out to shake both their hands, even pulling Scully in for a brief hug. “It’s so good to see you both again,” she says, beaming at them. “We can’t thank you enough for all of your help on Walter’s case.”

Skinner looks embarrassed. Scully smiles and says, “We were happy to help.”

Sharon’s eyes flit back and forth between the younger agents, and she says, “So, are you two—“

“ _No_ ,” declare Mulder, Scully, and Skinner, almost simultaneously.

She looks surprised by their vehemence, but just shrugs. “Oh, well. It’s probably best to leave work at work, anyway. Isn’t it, Walter?”

Skinner’s a smart man. “Yes,” he says, nodding his agreement. “You two should, uh, get out more.”

“Here we are,” Scully says brightly. “Getting out.”

“Right. Well,” Skinner says, and thankfully some bald cousin drags him off before he can dig himself in any deeper.

Mulder sighs his relief and turns back to Scully. “ _Now_ can we go?”

She just smiles and shakes her head. “Yeah, we can go.”

They’re starting to gather their things when another song starts up. A good one, this time. “Maybe this DJ doesn’t suck as much as I thought,” he mumbles, digging through Scully’s purse for the car keys.

Scully raises her eyebrows. “You _would_ like this song.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her eyebrows arch impossibly higher. “A self-destructive manic depressive import from England? Mulder, if I didn’t know better, I’d think this song was _about_ you.”

_// kill yourself for recognition, kill yourself to never ever stop_

“It’s not _that_ bad.” It might be that bad. He wonders what Scully’s favorite song is, and if he were twenty percent more whimsical or fifty percent more drunk (what’s fifty percent times zero?), he’d probably ask.

His hand is still resting on top of her purse, and she places her palm on his wrist. “Come on,” she says, pulling his hand away. The car keys he’s been gripping clatter to the table.

He doesn’t even have to ask the question out loud.

“Just one more dance,” he says, feigning reluctance. “Then we’re really leaving.”

“One more,” she agrees. She sees right through him.

The song plays and Scully leans into him, the top of her head brushing against his lips. He just breathes her in, knowing this might never happen again: Scully in his arms. Dancing, smiling. It’s not the kind of life they lead. Their lives are monsters and blood and hospital beds, fighting for their lives again and over again, always in the dark.

But for now, he’ll pretend things are different. Easier.

For just one more dance, they will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh, songs.
> 
> the song Mulder hates is “Can’t Fight This Feeling”, god bless REO Speedwagon forever and ever amen, it IS time to bring this ‘ship into the shore  
> the song Mulder likes is Radiohead’s “High and Dry” (y’all 1996 was a good year for music, I spent too much time reminiscing)  
> the song that the title comes from is *not* from thirty years ago, sadly, but is the Wolfmother song “Pretty Peggy”, which I’ll leave you with:
> 
> // take my hand, give me a chance  
> can i have you just for one dance?  
> they say i am but a foolish man  
> can i be your fool and take your hand?


End file.
